Waka Pass Diaries (Talk That Talk)

January 9

There is something I’ve always endeavored to do whenever a hookup is imminent. Ever since a gay man god created came to my house and opened his mouth to tell me that his idea of sex is that  “the Bottom sucks the dick and the Top fucks the ass”, I’ve strived to always talk about sexual preferences with anyone I know I’m going to have sex with. Sometimes, it’s not even a discussion; I’d just be flirting up a storm and dropping into our chats heavy sexual hints, and be taking notes of what cues he’s responding to. Because what I’d really hate to do is kick someone out of my bed when he drops his pants and says, “I don’t kiss. I don’t suck. I just fuck.”

But for whatever reason, I allowed myself to be persuaded out of following my usual process when I started chatting with Onome.

We met on Tinder – you know, that dating app where the gays have fled from Grindr to. He was sweet and charming, and kind of circumspect, like he was someone who didn’t like to waste words. And when I saw photos of him, pictures that depicted him as a big bear of a man, I started getting cuddly teddy-bear vibes from him. His circumspection quickly became frustrating during our chats, because it almost began to feel like I had to drag every response out of him. but I soon realized that that was his way of dealing with getting acquainted with a new person online. As the days and our chats progressed, he became more forthcoming in his responses, and we started having long conversations.

At some point during these conversations, I realised we hadn’t talked about sex. So, I said to him: “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“What?” he replied.

“Sex,” I texted back. “Seeing as it is one major reason we got to know each other, I figure we have to talk about it sometime. Not that talking about family, friends, jobs, being out and being closeted hasn’t been nice.”

He responded with some laugh emojis before saying, “Yeah well, I don’t really like to talk dirty on the phone.”

I typed an “Lol” before saying, “I wasn’t referring to sexting. I meant us talking about our sexual preferences. The things you like to do or not do, that sort of thing. It doesn’t have to be as formal as I just made it sound. It’s just… I like to know these things.”

“Still, these aren’t things I’m comfortable chatting about,” he maintained. “But don’t worry, I go with the flow.”

Those words felt very loaded. I go with the flow. It seemed like he’d given me a summary of all the good things I should expect during our hookup.

And I couldn’t wait.

Throughout this period that we were chatting, we kept going back and forth on the subject of which day to hook up. We had his schedule and my schedule and the distance to deal with; he’d agreed to come to my place – which, really, was the only option, seeing as he was living with his parents.

Eventually, a day presented itself: a day when we were both available. He left his place by 10, and was at mine nearly an hour later. When I saw him, I was pleased that his photos hadn’t lied about his looks. As I led him from the junction to my house, my entire body was charged with desire as I anticipated the morning of furious shagging we had ahead of us.

We got into the privacy of the bedroom and sat on opposite sides of the bed. I’d earlier placed a bag and some laundry on the only chair in the room to discourage any thought he might have of sitting on it; sitting on the bed would make it easier for me to just slide across like a mammy water and claim his lips in a kiss.

We made some small talk for a while, before I did like the mammy water in me had instructed me to do. I slid across the bed to where he was seated, his back against the wall, and I kissed him. It was light and feathery, a hair’s breadth touching of lips, like I was giving him a chance to either back out or give in.

He gave in. His lips grasped mine a little harder, deepening the kiss inch by delicious inch. Our tongues emerged, touched, connected and dueled. Our mouths meshed and slid against each other, flesh upon flesh.

We kissed and kissed, until my trembling body couldn’t take my bent-over position any longer. I began to slip backward onto my back, and he moved with me, soon ending up on top of me. It was only the inconvenience of the clothes we were wearing that caused us to stop and come up for air.

He began to peel off his shirt and denim trousers, while I quickly slipped off the jellabiya and boxer shorts I was wearing. Less than two minutes later, we were back in each other’s arms again, kissing heavily and grasping our naked bodies close to each other.

I go with the flow.

Oh, this was the flow alright. We were flowing all the way straight to –

Wait, what is happening?

He had stopped kissing me and pulled back to sit up, before saying in a low raspy voice, “Suck me.”

Well, that was new. I usually preferred the sucking of dick to happen organically, except in cases where it’s a quickie and we’ve got places to go. Getting instructed to suck dick after only a few minutes of sucking face – when we had all morning ahead of us – felt a little weird.

But okay.

I leaned forward, over his semi-hard dick, and began to blow him. He was a grower. The dick that, at semi-hard status, was a length I was grateful for, believing I could take, began to grow and stretch and elongate as it hardened under my oral ministrations.

Chineke God of whoever fucked Virgin Mary!

The dick I was grateful for quickly became the dick I wasn’t so sure I wanted inside me. Both girth and length were impressive. It wasn’t that it was terrifying; it was simply unexpected.

Anyway, who cares? I continued sucking him, feeling secure in the knowledge that we would flow into him doing things to me that would make taking his dick bearable.

Then he stopped me and pushed me back into kissing again. I welcomed this.

Then I was feeling a spark of irritation when he interrupted the kiss again to lean back and instruct me to suck him again.

I obliged him. A few minutes later, it was back to the kissing. And a few minutes later, he was leaning back again. “Suck me.”

At this point, I’d had it. I was not understanding this routine. Kiss. Suck him. Kiss. Suck him. Kiss. Suck him. Was this what Beyoncé created the gay men in the Beyhive for?

I don’t think so!

I sat there woodenly, next to his dick, waiting for him to pick up on the shift in my mood.

He did. And he asked, “What’s wrong?”

To which I answered, “Well, this was hardly what I expected.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I thought things would be a lot more varied than this,” I said.

“I’m just telling you what I want,” he said. “I wanted you to suck me and I told you. If you want me to do something to you, you tell me.”

“Seriously?” I said incredulously.

“Yes,” he said. “You can’t expect me to know what’s on your mind. If there’s something you want me to do to you, you tell me.”

“Sex is not a conversation,” I blurted out, starting to get annoyed. Wasn’t this the same guy who said he wasn’t comfortable talking about sex? Now, as in right in the middle of it, he expects us to talk about sex?!

“Well, what do you want?” he said.

I stared at him, feeling too incredulous to put into words what I expected him to know.

“You’re the one who’s not telling me what you want –” he began.

“That’s because anyone who’s ever had sex,” I said, cutting him off, “should have a general knowledge of what things to do to keep his partner turned on. I had no idea I was supposed to say, ‘Hey, it’s time to suck my nipples’ or ‘Can you now suck my dick, because it’s my turn.’ These are things people just do because they know it’s pleasurable.”

“Well, not everybody likes them,” he said.

“How about you do it and if I don’t like it, I’ll tell you to stop,” I retorted.

He stayed silent. I sat there fuming. The mood had been properly doused like water on a candle flame. I was mad enough to get up, pull on my clothes and call it a day.

He stopped me from putting my thought into action when he reached over and began to kiss me. I didn’t respond. I simply kept my mouth still and my eyes open as I watched his face and his eyes-shut focus on reigniting our passion. I allowed him push me back onto the bed, and after a few moments, I began to respond to his kiss. Then he broke the kiss and slid down to my chest, taking a nipple in his mouth.

But the fact that this had been discussed made me initially not respond to his ministrations. I just lay there, feeling mad that he’d had to be told before he knew what to do to pleasure me.

But his persistence paid off, and I was soon racked by too many waves of pleasure to stay mad. I began to curl and arch as his mouth and tongue ravaged my nipples, one after the other.

My throbbing dick was beckoning, and so I gave his head a gentle push downward. I’d be damned before I’ll tell him, “Suck me.”

He got the message, but instead of sliding down to my crotch, he pulled up his head, gave me a chagrined look and said, “I don’t suck dick.”

Yep. Those four words I hate more than any other sentence in the world, more even than ‘Homosexuality is a sin.’

I lay there and stared at him with the incredulity that I’m sure Abraham directed at God when He told him to sacrifice his son. Like, WTF! You go with the flow, and you forgot to mention that one crucial erosion to that flow??? You didn’t think I’d be interested in knowing right from the start that you don’t suck dick? Because, what – I’m a bottom, and so therefore, dick sucking isn’t my jurisdiction?

I was so incensed that I simply lay there, rendered immobile by the storm of emotions raging through me. He must have taken that to mean acquiescence, because he returned to sucking my nipples as though everything was just fine. I laid down there, suddenly too tired to even push him off and put an end to this disappointment.

Then he grabbed my dick with his hand and began to jerk me off. The calluses of his palm made for a pleasurable friction against the sensitive length of my erection. I initially thought he just wanted to wank me a bit to get me to become responsive to him again.

But he kept jerking me off, and it began to look like he wanted to make me cum. Maybe an apology? For not giving me what he’d now realised I wanted? I don’t know. All I knew was that I might as well take the jerk-off and be done with this nonsense.

So, I told him to stop and moved to fetch the lube. I handed it to him and he squirted some onto his palm, before returning to jerking me off. It felt nicer now, the roughness of his callused palm made slick by the wetness of the lube. I got comfortable on the bed and began bracing myself to cum.

Except that that flow wasn’t going anywhere either.

This dear man suddenly wanking me and said, “Do you have any condom?”

My eyes shot open and I stared at him. imagine the audacity! Did he really still expect to fuck me? Like seriously? His momma brought him up to believe that when you don’t suck a Bottom’s dick, you can still fuck his ass?

I almost laughed as I fell back on the age-old lie I’d used to discourage hookups I haven’t wanted to happen. Lol. I really shouldn’t tell you guys this secret of mine. But oh well. You see, every time I meet someone who I realise I don’t want to have sex with, but they’re here already and it’d be callous to just say no, I tell them I don’t have a condom.

Three things usually happen when I do this.

Either the guy is a stickler for safe sex, and decides all on his own that we can’t have sex.

Or the guy is a stickler for safe sex, and wants to know where he can go buy condoms right quick. In which case I’d follow up with another lie about how there are no pharmacies close by or that the one closest to my house didn’t open that day because I’d earlier gone out to buy condoms and met the pharmacy closed. Enough discouragement to make him reluctantly give in to the decision that we can’t have sex.

Or the guy is a risk-taker and starts to cajole me for us to do it raw. In which case I’d enjoy lecturing him very sternly on how he should stop fucking without condoms.

Guess what? I’d never told this lie and had a hookup say, “Oh, but I came with my own condoms.” Never. Ever.

And Onome was no exception.

When I told him that I didn’t have any condoms, he slumped down in disappointment and asked if there was any chemist nearby where he could buy.

“I actually went out earlier to go and buy,” I said very innocent-like, “but the chemist was closed. The woman didn’t open today.”

His disappointment deepened. “And I don’t like doing raw sex,” he said.

Kudos to you, I thought with grudging respect.

“So, what are we going to do?” he said, looking piteously at me.

Many a time, when the rejected Top does this, he’s hoping I’m so overtaken with konji, that I’d move heaven and earth to ensure he can get his dick inside me.

And I did what I’d done to all the other guys who asked me what we should do. I shrugged with the right amount of sadness on my face and said, “I don’t know.”

Then I sat up and said to Onome, “Are you sure you don’t want it raw?” I moved closer to him, making to straddle him as I said, “You can just put it inside small.”

Pink Panther, you won’t sit your nyash down, an inner voice cautioned me. Don’t tempt him to change his mind.

Expectedly, he pushed me gently away. “No, I don’t fuck raw,” he said resolutely.

And inside me, I was doing a gleeful little dance. Next time, oga, learn how to suck dick, and the bottom may know how to open his legs for you.

Finally, he heaved a sigh and said, “Can I do laps?”

The absurdity of the request (because it had to have been at least 10 years since I last did lap-sex) almost made me burst out in chuckles. I could recognise his desperation; he really needed to bust a nut. And I wasn’t that cruel. So, I shrugged yes.

We returned to lying down on the bed and proceeded with the most high-school kind of sex I’d ever had in my adult life. I lay on my tummy and he placed my legs firmly together, lubed u the underside of my ass-cheeks and dipped his erection inside the groove, before he began thrusting in and out.

I simply laid there, my mind wandering off to the erratic schedule I was going to be facing in the next few days, mentally trying to arrange appointments and reorganizing my time. There was neither pain nor pleasure to distract me. I was basically mentally filing my nails and waiting for him to finish.

And finish, he soon did. With a groan, he thrust in one last time before whipping out his dick and spitting his jizz out all over the curve of my ass. The splatter of his cum on my behind sparked some irritation inside me, and I decided I’d have to wash my sheets as I turned around and placed my jizz-covered ass on the bed, my dick now poking upward as I looked at him like: Oga, oya get back to what you were doing. It’s my turn.

He didn’t need to be told. He squirted out some more lube and returned to jerking me off. I really wasn’t into it, but I was determined to get off like he had. So, I kept my focus laser-sharp on my pleasure centres, and soon, my own jizz was shooting out through his hand.

After that, there was no need for much words. We cleaned up. He dressed up. And I saw him off to the place where he’d get on a bike, after which we said the kind of goodbye that we both knew was final.

Written by Pink Panther